


Charity

by Aithilin



Series: First Meetings [13]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Found Family, M/M, New Friendships, charity - Freeform, implied racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 08:09:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10681218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Libertus was getting used to the way the prince saw the world. It wasn't so different from his own vision.





	Charity

Any car in service to the royal family may as well have been a very visually pleasing tank. Libertus hated driving those cars. Especially when the prince’s personal apartments were only a few blocks away from the Citadel— an easy walk that the kid had made plenty of times. Only now that there was a function— a fundraiser, a gala for a charity, one of the pet projects the Citadel took on for appearances— the prince had to arrive in style. He had to make an appearance. 

“Hey, Libertus, can you turn down here?”

The request came from the back seat, from the prince as they started past one of the side roads that Libertus had walked thousands of times before. That he had driven thousands of times before, on his way from home to the Citadel. 

“Your highness?” He could see the prince in the rearview mirror, could see the hopeful look. He knew that look, the one Nyx constantly complained about. “Looking to get me into trouble?”

“I’ll get you out of it again,” Libertus knew that tone too. He had heard it when Noctis was wheedling Nyx for something. “Please.”

With a huff, Libertus reported in to Pelna that the prince had a requested deviation from the route and changed course. He almost smirked when Nyx came over the line to ask if he needed help wrangling the prince. “No, I got it. Kid just wants a detour. Might be fashionably late.”

He ignored the satisfied look from the backseat. The kid was too much like Nyx for his own good sometimes. 

“Just tell me when, your highness.”

Noctis didn’t ask that they stop until they were on the edge of the Galahdian district, just where the colourful banners and clan marks had started to appear on the otherwise pristine buildings. The prince didn’t wait for Libertus to open the door before he was out of the car, phone out and sending off a quick succession of texts. The Glaive suspected that the detour had been sent in, and the prince was already taking responsibility. 

It had been weeks since their truce, since they started chatting over hiking and fishing in the far reaches of the city’s green space. Since Libertus started getting used to the kid’s smile and easy questions. 

He could see how it would seem like ignorance to anyone else— to him not too long ago. But the prince was a curious thing, always asking questions, always trying to understand. Libertus was still concerned that the interest would fade if anything went south with Nyx, but he trusted the kid’s intentions, at least. He trusted that the kid at least wanted to understand more than the rest of his people did, was more invested in the refugee status thanks to Nyx and the Glaives than the rest of the city.

Noctis meant well.

And if it helped some more of his people, Libertus was more than happy to point the kid in the right direction. 

“I wanted your opinion, Libertus,” Noctis started as he headed deeper into the now-familiar district. “If there was some sort of funding for your people here, in the city, would they accept it?”

“Like a charity?”

“Maybe? I don’t know. Nyx told me about the refugee homes— the centres where you all stayed when you first came here.” Noctis paused at a shop window; “I want to help.”

Libertus frowned, knowing that the clothes the prince wore right now could probably fund one of those intake centres for five years with the budgets they had. That the prince’s name being attached to any cause associated with the immigrants and refugees forced into Insomnia to escape the Empire would instantly draw more attention from the Lucians than any plea for alms and charity. But Galahdians never asked for handouts, for charity. Not unless there was no alternative. 

“It’d be seen as you taking up a cause, your highness. Sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong,” Libertus knew how it’d look. The foreign prince using the image of the less fortunate, while the proud warriors of the community were seen as lapdogs by one side and foreigners by the other. “We don’t really ask for help.”

He was surprised by how expressive he had learnt the prince was, how thoughtful he was. Before he bothered, he always thought the kid was aloof, uninterested, set too far above everyone else. But now Libertus knew what the kid’s looks meant— those little frowns and ways he looked at new problems. “When’s the next Galahdian holiday? The next big one?”

“A couple of months…”

“Is it one where there’s usually a festival?”

“Your highness…”

“I can’t affect the budgets, Libertus. Even my dad can only do so much that way. But I can lend you myself, right? If there’s more attention—”

Libertus sighed, crossing his arms as he looked the prince over, as he followed the prince down the familiar streets— as the watered down version of his culture, set up as an attraction for the Lucians, was slowly replaced with the real thing the deeper they went. “It’s not that easy. You won’t be welcomed. You’ll be intruding on something, even with Nyx vouching for you. Or Crowe. Or me.”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m accepted,” Noctis offered a little smile, looking less and less like the Crown Prince of Lucis, and more like Noct dressed up as someone else. Libertus didn’t know when the change happened. But it probably had something to do with the way Noct kept fidgeting with the small braids still tightly tied in his hair— still stiff in the short hair. “It’ll get the right kind of attention if I’m there, right?”

“Don’t know about the Lucians taking kindly to their prince hanging out with is publicly.”

“You don’t give them enough credit, you know.”

“All due respect, Noctis,” Libertus stopped when Noct stopped, surprised when the kid took an interest in a stall selling beads and ribbons and cords; “you’re not the immigrant here.”

“That’s why I need your help. You’re the one who doesn’t like me; you’ll be the first to say when I’m out of line or fucking up.”

He wanted to say something, wanted to reassure the kid that he didn’t hate him. He wanted to give Noct a little shove to his shoulder and tell him that it wasn’t like that. That he was Nyx’s now; he was practically family. But the prince’s phone was buzzing at him, and there was refreshed chatter over his frequency. So instead he physically redirected Noct back to the car. 

“We’ll go over your plan later, yeah? Pelna’s good at planning these things,” He offered a smile as the prince handled a new flood of texts demanding to know where he was; “and I’ll be there to tell you when you’re being an idiot.”


End file.
